purple blooms.

whenever
I feel the grief has passed
the cycle has calmed
the wave has been
quelled
it never fails
I look at my houseplants
spider green leaves
purple blooms
propagation shoots
and miss you.

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Perspective

my curiosity continues
to betray me
for when I pry into
your gaping mind
I’m met with
aggression.
It’s perspective.
I guess
I know
it’s based in fear
and I commit
to no fear
no gaping mind
it’s a guest with no end
no catharsis
it’s perspctive
it’s tearing down
first
my mind
your mind
collective minds
perspective.

 

11/24/16// the challenge.

There’s something to be said
For the pain of knowing
What you want,
Putting in so much
That you lose the rest of
yourself,
And being rejected
Over and over and over
And getting back up
To put in more
Than you ever had to
Begin with
And finding that what you wanted
Doesn’t feel
Like it was for you
After all.
There’s something to be said
For dreaming and working
And not being seen
And finding that
You were never made for
That dream.
(Or the dream was never made for you)
You were made for
The challenge.

12/27/16// the death of the sun.

CW: death (feat. lyrics by Dashboard Confessional)

I remember her body
tiny and frail
convulsing in my arms
still pretty
still in this physical world
back then.

I sang to her

“she smiled in a big way”
her dry, thin lips unmoving.
“quiet in the grasp of dusk and summer”
it was late December,
but she was quiet.

“you already lost”
as she faded from me.
“when you only had barely enough to hang on”
it was true.

“she made you better than you were before”
I wanted it to be so.
“she told you bad things that you wished you could change”
and I grew up
so young.

“she said, nobody here can live forever”
And she died a couple of days later.
“Some things tie your life together
With slender threads,
And things to treasure,
And days like that should last and last and last”

he came home
I was already awake
he didn’t have to say anything.

my brother,
silent,
hugged her body.

I,
frozen,
touched her hand.

my suddenly too-big body
vibrating
I drew in a deep breath
cold air
scraping against my insides
inflamed.

01/07/17// birth.

there was a storm:
snow cascading from the clouds
the doctor
halted by the chaos
sat home by the fireplace
so I was delivered by a
stranger.
there was the cord:
connecting my mother and I
wrapped tightly
around my under-sized
neck, turning my face
blue, like I’d be for
years.
there was my grandmother:
on her own death bed
refusing to 
hold me or see me,
my mother’s daughter,
who took her name
Dorothy.
There is a matrilineal lineage:
and a traumatic birth,
a precursor
for an anxiety-induced
identity formed by
crisis.

02/12/17// a robin.

She told me once
“good poetry is what makes you feel”
something real, something bigger
than you:
The Moment.
I am a robin in the tree behind her house
snow cascading, furious,
settling on my wings
like cotton, like my mind
I am hope, she is a tree.
An orchard stands around her
blankets of snow
over firmly-rooted toes
curling around the soil
grounding, anchoring,
pulling her close.
I am a robin, and she is a tree
still close to me.